


War Wounds

by JessicaEBoswell



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: hints of PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 07:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10355352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaEBoswell/pseuds/JessicaEBoswell
Summary: Even the liveliest of people feel down sometimes, and for Donut, his war wounds tend to bring back a world of pain.





	

Donut woke with a start, a piercing pain shooting across his skin as he was abruptly roused out of his nightmare and thrown harshly back into reality. His hand flew to his chest, to the last remnant of the almost fatal shot, his fingers tracing the bump where the bullet had impacted, where it had ripped through him and almost taken his life.

_Breathe,_ he told himself encouragingly. _Just breathe. You’ll be okay._

But the pain haunted him. He never complained about it, never let it show; he was Franklin Delano Donut, enthusiastic, lively, and upbeat. He couldn’t let something as trivial as pain get in the way of making people smile.

With a small exhale he got out of bed and prepared himself for the long day ahead, standing in front of the mirror and looking at the pale mark on his chest. It looked like it had healed, but there were still blotches of red around it.

When it had happened, when Agent Washington had shot him, it had felt like he’d pushed him. At first he thought he had, but then he’d felt the agonising pain as his body reacted to the shot, and it had felt like a lifetime before it rendered him unconscious. That could have been the end of him. It was only out of sheer luck and some strange expertise on Doc’s side that had kept him alive and saved him. If he’d have been left there, if he’d never have been found…

He shook his head, refusing to dwell on it, and quickly got dressed, methodically placing on each piece of armour and carrying his helmet under his arm as he made his way towards the cafeteria.

There weren’t many people in there, just a few of the late duty soldiers grabbing something to eat before they headed to the dormitories to sleep off another uneventful night. Grif was sat at the back of the room, eating from multiple plates at the same time, as if the food would vanish if he didn’t eat it quickly enough.

Donut grabbed a small bowl of cereal and sat himself down opposite his fellow teammate. “Good morning,” he chirped.

Grif grumbled, continuing to shove as much food into his mouth as he could. It sounded like ‘good morning’, but Donut couldn’t quite make out the words through the muffled grunt and layers of food he was eagerly chewing on.

“We have a wonderful day of training ahead of us,” Donut enthused. “There’s nothing like getting sweaty with the guys.”

Grif shook his head, pretending not to have heard him and continued eating.

A twinge shot through Donut’s chest and his smile dropped, but Grif didn’t seem to notice, the orange soldier far too preoccupied with scraping the last meagre scraps from his plates and shovelling them into his mouth.

Donut ate his breakfast in silence, and once he’d finished, he bid his teammate a quick, chirpy farewell and dashed out of the cafeteria.

He made sure he was in a secluded area before he stumbled, his legs feeling weak. _Get to training,_ he told himself. _You’ll feel better after some exercise._

Struggling to stand to his full height, he put his helmet on and made his way to the training ground. The whole place bustled with life, the soldiers sparring and perfecting their techniques as the leaders yelled commands.

“Donut!” Wash called, waving to him from across the training ground and catching his attention. “You can train with us today.”

As Donut turned to face the ex-freelancer, the events that had resulted in his chest injury flashed before his eyes; the demand, the shot, the unrelenting ringing in his ears that didn’t cease until he’d fallen unconscious.

He shook the thought out of his head and approached Washington, keeping as upbeat as he could. “Good morning, Agent Washington,” he said with a cheery beat in his voice. He’d never been more relieved to have a visor in front of his face than in that moment, masking the pained look that took over his boyish features as his words strained through gritted teeth. “Ready to report for a day of hard training.”

From beside Washington, Tucker put his hand over his visor and Caboose tilted his head, but none of them called him out on the slight innuendo or his choice of words, and Washington began the morning’s training.

The extensive exercise took its toll on him, and Donut tried as hard as he could to balance himself, taking the pressure off his painful scar, but that was easier said than done as Washington ordered his trainees to do sit-ups. His nerves were pinched and it took all his strength not to scream out in agony. _Stay calm,_ he told himself soothingly. _It’ll pass. It has to. Pain is temporary._

Once the morning’s training was over, Donut made his way back into the base. Exercising hadn’t helped has he’d hoped, if anything it had only made it worse, the pain clouding his mind and making him feel dizzy.

Just as he was about to collapse, a pair of hands grabbed hold of him and kept him from toppling to the ground.

When he looked up, Doc was stood before him, a worried expression on his face as he steadied Donut and kept him stable.

“Donut?” the medic said worriedly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Donut replied. “I just-” A pained squeak slipped from his lips and he felt his legs go weak again. “It’s just my scar.”

“We need to get you to the medical unit.”

“No. There’s no need for such a fuss. I’m fine, really.”

“Donut, you’re on the verge of collapse.”

The soldier looked up at him, seeing the spark of concern in Doc’s eyes, and with a small nod he allowed the medic to slip an arm around his waist and slowly lead him to the medical unit.

Luckily there was nobody in there, nobody to see his usually chipper demeanour slip from him as Doc carefully placed him on the medical bed.

“You’re… uh… you’re going to need to remove your chest plate and zip down your under armour,” Doc said awkwardly, trying his best to avert his eyes as Donut removed his helmet and the top part of his armour, shrugging out of his under armour as carefully as he could.

The medic could see what the problem was straight away, red marks surrounding the site of the slight scarring and making it look incredibly sore. “Your wound hasn’t healed properly,” he said, moving forwards to inspect the injury better. He placed his fingers just out of reach of the angry red marks and looked up at Donut to make sure he wasn’t hurting him. “If it hurts, you have to tell me, okay?”

Donut nodded and watched as Doc inspected the wound, flinching when the medic prodded lightly at the scar. He closed his eyes and bit back a small yelp in response to the jolt of pain that shot through him.

“I’m sorry,” the medic said, drawing back and trying to keep his eyes off Donut’s chest. In the end he turned around, pretending to sort through some sheets of paper at the work surface to stop himself from staring. “I think there’s been some irritation leading to a delay in the healing process. If we can deal with that, the wound should heal on its own.” He finally turned back around and faced Donut, narrowing his eyebrows in concentrations and trying to ignore the voice of O’Malley in his head as the AI fragment teased him mercilessly.

“That sounds very… medical,” Donut commented, raising an eyebrow.

“Doctor Grey has some interesting books here,” Doc explained. “Most of them are a little scary, but there is some good information in the ones that aren’t primarily about removing various limbs and body parts.”

Donut gave a gentle smile and began to dress his upper half again, wincing as he stretched his shoulder through the sleeve of his under armour.

Doc moved to help him, holding various pieces of armour in place while Donut dressed himself and secured everything into place. “There are some creams in the storage cupboard that I can give you to help with the irritation. It should clear it up in a few weeks, and then I can have a better look at the scarring.”

Donut jumped down from the medical bed and instantly regretted it as a charge of pain shot through his chest, but he ignored it in favour of taking a few steps towards Doc and wrapping his arms around him. “Thank you,” he said in gratitude, knowing that he probably should have gone to the medic before now.

“Just, uh, doing my job,” Doc replied, carefully embracing him in return. “If you’re in pain again, just come and find me and I’ll do what I can.”

Donut drew back and smiled brightly, his usual verve already returning to him. “Don’t worry, Doc,” he said. “If any of my war wounds start hurting again, I’ll come straight to you.”


End file.
